This is Family Business
by Roxu
Summary: Myra Mikaelson did not enjoy being sought out for favors - but when she gets information on the fact that her other siblings were being held as a petty vengeful bargaining chip by a vampire that was a mere boy, things get complicated. With a sarcastic attitude like Kol, a temper like Klaus, and morals like Elijah - who is Myra Mikaelson? What is her story? Read and find out!
1. Hello, Brother

**Familiarity – **_**Prologue; **__Hello, Brother._

* * *

><p><em>1320<em>

_Dear Gabriel, _

_Life is not how I imagined it._

_It is a wicked existence that only stays to harbor my viscid anger that threatens to choke me at every turn and angle. What do I do? What do I say? I think of your last moments every moment of this life, and I think of your dying breath. _

_Tell me, do y0u think of your blood on my lips?_

_Do you think that I murdered you, or did I save you?_

_Please, answer._

_Love Always,_

_Myrella Mikaelson_

* * *

><p>Generally, when Myra arose from her slumber in the early dawns, she would begin her morning by squinting at the peeking anti meridiem rays pouring directly into her closed eyelids. It was an annoying and irritating process, one that had led her to think on purchasing more durable and thick curtains (a project that has been delayed), but it was also very familiar. It awoke her on a time schedule, so she would dare not have to utilize one of those pesky, obnoxious alarm clocks that she, truthfully, loathed.<p>

Familiarity was an essential and important thing to Myra, she, for one, was not particularly up for digging through something without it being a familiar territory or an aspect that she had educated herself on. Over the many years of her life, she had learned that knowing was better off than not, and so that is the reason she was so acquainted with her sleeping position, with her seemingly transparent curtains, with the hatred of alarm clocks.

Because it was a mere insight on her own hidden insecurities, which were swiftly resurfacing without her fully realizing it.

It was when the daylight did not sliver across her face, and the bed gently sunk to the left from another person's body weight, that Myra felt the pads of fingertips trailing across her forehead, sweeping a brown lock away from her face, that she snapped open her vivid blue eyes. Azure clashed with azure, and Myra felt her breath intake sharply as she stared at the man in front of her with trepidation.

He was young on only physical appearance, he'd always been ruggedly handsome with his dark blond hair, unrivaled expressive eyes, and the smirk that exhibited his boyish dimples. But his style was altering from the last time she had been forced to run from him, gone was the shoulder-length wavy hair, and out was the short and trimmed that brought out the highness in his cheekbones.

Niklaus Mikaelson had situated his left arm on her right side, entrapping her within his reach as a slow, sly leer curled the side of his mouth. "Myra," he said, gradually examining her prone, stiffen form underneath his arms.

The next form of events were a slight, hazy blur. She had a rational thought process when she struck to launch the man away from her, his hand catching her wrist but her right hand swiftly caught him underneath the chin, causing his head to snap back with only a barely noticeable grimace. Myra surged from the hotel suite bed, quick to steady her balance as she blurred with inhuman speed toward the stake hidden in her bag.

Of course, it would not kill him, but it would injure him enough to bide her time to make an escape. She gripped the stake just as fingers tangled into her hair, ripping her backwards and slamming her back into the wall beside her bed. Her hip knocked into the lamp on the nightstand and sent it crashing against the white carpeted flooring, the bulb busting into fragmented, miniscule shards.

A large hand collided with her throat, the tips of his fingers digging into her windpipe as Niklaus forced her head to ram against the crème interior wall behind her. "Sister," he glared, "how foolish of you. And here I was beginning to think after so long of not seeing each other, we would have come to an understanding."

"You _bastard_, you lost my 'understanding' when you began daggering our family for your own selfish vendettas against yourself!" Myra struggled futilely against his hold, knowing despite her title of being older than her brother, he was stronger than her from sheer will alone – that was what made Niklaus fearful to the eyes of humans, vampires, witches, and werewolves.

Niklaus smirked, but it revised into a cold sneer of wrath. He wrenched me forward with a forceful yank, our mirrored blue eyes glaring at each other form inches apart, vengeful contending with instinctual supremacy. "I did it," he said with clenched teeth, "for their own good."

"How noble of you," Myra hissed. "What good is that to them if they are locked away in a wooden box!" she finally pried his hand free, shoving herself off of the nightstand and taking three broad steps away from him. She was highly aware of his shoulders trembling with restrained anger, and his hands clenching into fists. She rubbed the sore skin around her throat, wincing. An exhausted sigh whispered past her mouth, and she padded over to her suitcase resting on the mini-table that was prior to the large set of windows that overlooked the capitol of Italy. "What do you wish of me, Niklaus?"

He didn't turn around, but his head lifted leisurely in acknowledgment to the question. Myra removed her shorts and shimmied into a pair of black pants, buttoning them quickly as she extracted the tank top she'd previously slept in. After pulling on a white silk dress shirt, she revolved around, buttoning up the front, to see Niklaus gazing at her with a blank expression.

"Well, brother? After that petty tussle, I'm a bit famished. If you do not have anything important –"

"Mikael is dead."

Her fingers froze in the midst of their duty, and almost immediately began shaking as that name had been spoken. Myra swallowed dryly, eyes blinking fast, and stared at Niklaus as if she could not believe her ears. "_What_?" she asked, lowly, underneath her breath. Eyes fluttering closed, she breathed in deeply when he did not respond to her inquiry of disbelief. "When?"

"About four days ago," he answered. "Many things have happened recently that you are unaware of, Myra –"

"Don't be an imbecile, Niklaus. I know of you finally breaking your blasted curse, I know of the doppelgänger." Myra sat in one of the two cushioned table chairs as she slipped on a pair of black riding boots, focusing on her task as she felt her brother's scrutiny burn into her face. "I have many, many contacts, brother."

"I'm aware," he stated. "Then you know of Stefan Salvatore's foolhardy mistake."

"I only know of the Salvatore's through Katerina Petrova, and that was from mere rumors." Myra smiled bitterly. "It seems as though history does repeat itself, does it not? Tatia, Katerina, and now Elena Gilbert. Entertaining as hell, albeit somewhat annoying."

Niklaus rolled his eyes. "I feel as if you are attempting to steer the conversation, Myra."

"Well, I feel as if you are bringing unpleasant news." It was not a shock or surprise to her that she did not feel the requirement for mourning her now deceased father, if anything, she perhaps felt saddened for not feeling his soft words when she had been a mere child, expressing tales of dragons and heroes – but that was the past, a very long time ago that was a just, wistful memory.

Myra combed her fingers through her wavy brown hair once, standing to her feet. She was two inches shorter than Niklaus, but somehow – with both of them experiencing the most of life of the Mikaelson's, they stood at level height with mental capacity. "Come now, brother, we can discuss these details over some early breakfast."

When they had situated themselves in a booth in the small, cramped café across the busy street of Rome, Myra raised an eyebrow when he ordered a straight glass of the most expensive and strongest liquor that they acquired. She softly asked for a cup of black coffee and two slices of almond biscotti. She studied her brother, the way he twined his fingers together and rested his chin atop. For a split second, he almost seemed normal – but she was not an ignorant dolt.

Myra was old, not in appearance but in soul. She had been educated a long time ago to know many but trust very precious few. Her younger siblings had always been risk-taking and rebellious, and so her trust commonly leaned towards Elijah and Finn. Finn having been departed for so long, Elijah was her main contact to her family. She had not seen him in at least three years, though, so his whereabouts were unknown to her.

"If the beginning of our meetings could commence like this, then perhaps we could be more civil to one another, brother." Myra chuckled bitterly, playing with the lapis lazuli ring on her left ring finger. "So tell me, how has your discovery for creating more Hybrids turn out to be?"

"Swell," Niklaus stated vaguely.

"And what, per say, will you do when your ever-so loyal sired Hybrids do when they realize they are under your terms, Niklaus?"

He scoffed, "Trivial matters."

"I do not see it that way," Myra shrugged effortlessly. "You should have thought of everyone's side. Imagine the Mystic Fall's supernatural clan when they decide they do not want your pesky minions around so much." She thanked the waitress with a kind smile as her coffee and meal was placed in front of her. "I would believe they'd attempt to turn your own kind against you."

"Their loyalty is undeniable." Niklaus picked up his drink, swishing it around the glass for a second before nearly drowning the alcohol in two long gulps. "That is not why I am here, Myra." He pushed the burnt orange-colored plate away from her when he noticed her lack of awareness toward his face.

"Well, I see your manners have not yet improved," she snorted. "Yes, just why are you here, Niklaus? You know now I have to pack up and move once more when you leave."

"Yes, you will be leaving. With me." Niklaus clarified her dubious frown, "That foolhardy mistake I mentioned with Stefan Salvatore earlier, he stole the coffins that contain Elijah, Finn, and Kol."

"Oh?" Anger surfaced in her tone. "And why were they in coffins to begin with?"

Niklaus pinched the bridge of his nose, "Myra. Not now. I need your help to get them back."

"And what of Rebekah?"

"I have my suspicions of her whereabouts. Daggered for certain."

Myra breathed heavily through her nose. For all she knew, Niklaus was practically walking her into a white oak dagger with him asking her for assistance. She loved her family with all of her being, but her siblings had long since been corrupted or driven insane by immortality and Mikael. She narrowed her eyes at him, analyzing any deception in his posture. "If I say yes, what is in it for me?"

He smiled knowingly. "You will, with or without me being in your favor, Myra."

How right he was.


	2. A Mere Mortal Mistake

**Familiarity – **_**Chapter 1; **__A Mere Mortal Mistake_

* * *

><p><em>1400<em>

_Dear Gabriel,_

_Emotions are a hindrance to my kind, but I find that I am incapable of flipping that off switch any time soon, my love. Perhaps it is your fault, I suppose, because you are that one object that I refuse to walk around and completely leave behind in my haste footsteps. Do you enjoy making me unintentionally suffer, Gabe?_

_My emotions are unstable because of the main fact that I cannot feed properly. I look at the jugular vein, at the main artery in the right side of mortals' throats, and I see it throb – I feel the immediate desire to sink my fangs deep into their flesh – but I cannot perform the task. My senses roar for want, for that precious nectar from the main source, but I discovered that my feelings only allow me to drink from a gauntlet, or anything other than my mouth against skin._

_Are you happy with this? I cannot revert to drinking something as lowly as animal blood, or anything downgraded, I need human plasma to keep my strength. There are far worse predators then me, my love, and I must keep the Original legend, the stories, to withhold their purpose._

_I am currently traveling with my dear brother Kol, and we locate ourselves currently in a grand country known as Greece. The very place you had promised me to go in another life._

_I think I shall now live it through you, Gabriel._

_Love Always,_

_Myrella Mikaelson_

* * *

><p>"<em>Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned off the <em>_Fasten Seat Belt sign__, and you may now move around the cabin. However we always recommend to keep your seat belt fastened while you're seated. You may now turn on your __electronic devices__ such as calculators, CD players and laptop computers._

_In a few moments, the flight attendants will be passing around the cabin to offer you hot or cold __drinks__, as well as breakfast, dinner, supper, a light __meal__, or a snack. Alcoholic drinks are also available at a nominal charge, with our compliments. Now, sit back, relax, and __enjoy the flight__. Thank you."_

Myra Mikaelson unbuckled her seatbelt swiftly, crossing her black legging-cladded legs as she felt the international plane begin to advance forward through the stratosphere. She was a fan of flying, it was very familiar and despite the negativity comments toward noises – she always stationed herself on the upper-class seats where champagne was served as well as pleasant food.

She gently thanked the attendant who set down an elegant of champagne that was the highest quality that the plane occupied, a bottle of Ace of Spade, with as well as a few tablespoons of the attendants crimson blood. But the kind older woman would not recall ever cutting her palm to mix in with alcohol, in fact, all she could remember was slicing her palm on something sharp and small. Myra took a careful sip of her drink, the blood and champagne blending smoothly to create a heavenly taste.

As she swallowed the liquid, Myra begrudgingly discovered that her mind persisted on pondering of her unexpectedly departed father. But it was not the recent Original Vampire Hunter that kept on crossing her thoughts, it was the man that was. The man that had once allowed her to jump on his back and carry her through the house, despite the fact that he claimed it was inappropriate in her dressing gown.

She kept thinking of that night.

"_Father, what have you done?!" I clutched Kol's face in absolute horror, tears trickling down my cheeks steadily as I gasped for breath between my aching sobs. My hands trembled against my brother's face, trying to process the fact that I had watched him jump over the cauldron to sprint to the front door of the house to attempt a hasty escape from our mad father – but with speed unknown and unreal, Mikael had jabbed Kol through the chest with a broad sword._

_My palms were stained crimson from his fresh blood, and I glanced up with hazy wide eyes to see Rebekah lying prone on her side, a red stain blooming across the torso of her white nightgown. "No," I moaned in desperation. Staggering up to my feet, I held my hands prior to me in some sort of self-preservation act of a shield. "Father," I choked on my tears, "why is this happening? Explain _this to me_!" The demand was not how I spoke to my father, for I knew the consequences of ever raising my voice to him in any motive or manner. But the grief was all-consuming, and my eyes roamed everywhere, from Niklaus propped up against a fallen chair, from Elijah on the floor beside the kitchen table. _

_I could not even recall when everything had begun. We had ate a healthy supper, mother had discussed departing to Ayanna's household for a short while, and the next event I knew, Finn was being tossed on the floor from Mikael, a gaping wound puncturing his heart. There was no warning, no preparation. My father had gone mad with dementia. _

_His blue eyes mirrored my own, and I inhaled sharply as he blurred in my vision with a speed and agility that abandoned my vision with nothing but an intensifying dizziness. My feet instinctually stumbled backwards in fear and confusion, and I bellowed a cry of terror when something poked sharply underneath my collarbone. _

_Mikael was in front of me, expression blank. He extended his arm, and regardless of me flinching away from his hand, he brushed his fingers across my long taupe hair. His thumb brushed over my cheekbone, but he was yet to form anything resembling a smile. "You will understand," was all he said, because the next second, pain pierced through my chest, and I coughed on my own adhesive blood. _

"What are you thinking about?"

Myra blinked cautiously, and she swallowed dryly and tossed back the rest of the champagne as she revolved her head to gaze into Niklaus's azure blue eyes. "Nothing of importance," she spoke off-handedly, signaling for the stationed attendant to pour her another glass, and asking politely for the middle-aged woman to just leave the bottle in her possession.

She glanced down at him fiddling around with his smartphone. She had a fancy one herself, but she mainly stored it away unless she got a call from a contact. His thumbs danced across the touchscreen swiftly, and she raised an eyebrow. "What are _you_ thinking about, brother? You will be quiet the busy man when returning to our _delightful_ hometown." The sarcasm dripped with venom off of her voice, because in truth, she had never intended on ever returning to Mystic Falls, Virginia.

"I've had my Hybrids tail the doppelgänger and her pals for the time being, but you see," he released a forbidding chuckle, "they are a challenging bunch."

"Oh?" Myra smirked, concluding that initiating into a conversation will perhaps capture her roaming mind elsewhere. She shifted sideways into her seat, drawing up her knees and facing the right side of her brother. "Describe to me, brother, how challenging?"

"Challenging enough that they seem to be under the impression that they can outsmart me." A scowl teetered on the edge of his mouth, but he suppressed the urge with a clamp of his teeth. "You have always loved a good challenge, Ella, and I believe this little group will be quiet the dare."

The ancient nickname yanked on a few of her heartstrings, but she remained resilient in her calm expression. A smile ghosted her mouth. "Is that so?"

"Indeed. And they have one of every kind." Niklaus began counting off with his fingers. "A Bennett witch, three vampires, a vampire hunter, and although once upon a time there was a werewolf that blew –"

"Now there is a Hybrid that roars?" Myra grinned widely as his mouth stretched up at her inquiry. "How intriguing, Nik." She tested the nickname back on her tongue with a sentimental sweetness that burned her mouth, but she only found it fitting since he was reverting to using her erstwhile sobriquet. But she found that by the way his shoulders tensed or his back straight that he was not expecting her to state it so casually.

"Well, yes, they've caught me by surprise on several occasions."

"And shall I throw in a guess, you taught them an important life lesson?" Myra balanced the rounded bottom of champagne flute on her knee, studying the red lipstick she had imprinted along the rim.

"One that did not stick, evidently."

She laughed. The Original Vampire tapped a red painted fingernail against the delicate glass of her drink, observing as the liquid in response to her modest rap. The thick golden liquid reminded her of licking flames of a fire in the brightest of moments, and that was when the past resurfaced to swallow her.

_The cauldron hovering above the licking flames of the blazing fire was the first and foremost thing that I saw when consciousness dawned me aware of my surroundings. A gag was what my mind could process me to do when I felt the excess of blood clouding in my mouth and throat. I spat on the ground and heaved hazardously, tears watering in my eyes once more. _

_I felt strange, but it was too strange to be considered remotely good. Everything was loud, the floor beneath me was too cool and then too warm, the fire looked like the sun in my side-view vision, and I rotated my head to breath in short pants. What is this? How am I back from the dead when I had truly felt father spear my heart with his sword?_

_Kol was no longer near me, neither was Elijah nor Finn. What is happening? The door, a mere three feet from me, swung outwards before two figures stepped inside. I squinted at my clearly deranged father, who held a girl from the village by the base of her neck. "Father," I stared, but then began shaking my head. "What is this madness?" _

_Niklaus was crouched behind Rebekah at the open fire, glaring dangerously at Mikael. "What are you doing?"_

"_We must finish what we started," our father clarified roughly. _

_I scrambled backwards just as Mikael forced the girl to her knees prior to me, my eyes darted to my siblings as if they could somehow help me, but even I knew they would not – for they were merely as confused and helpless as I was, as well. He grabbed his daggers handle and drew blood against the girl's forearm, and I gaped my mouth open in horror as he spoke next. "We must drink in order to survive," he explained coolly. _

_I was transfixed on the female opposite of me, our eyebrows, mouth, or eyes gave no indication of her ever being in any harm or pain, which bothered me. As I observed the warm blood pooling around her arm, the increasing urge was present, but I shoved it away with my own skepticism of the circumstances. _

"_Drink, Myrella," Mikael ordered, his hand extending the girl's arm by her small and fragile wrist._

"_No," I moaned with dread, looking away with tears. A wrenching cry pried from my mouth when my father curled his fingers into the back of my hair, wrestling me forward as I resisted with my hands braced against his wrist and shoulder. "Father, _stop_! You cannot force this on me!" I pleaded, knowing that only worse and terrible things would outcome from this witchcraft that our parents had performed dangerously. _

"_Father, please!" Rebekah begged, hot tears streaming down her blood speckled cheeks. _

"_Shut your mouth!" he demanded coldheartedly. "Myra, look at me," he ordered. His hand was still locked into my tresses, tightening with each word. My lips trembled and my eyes wavered but I obeyed as he had commanded. "You need to drink. Now. To complete your survival. If you resist, I will force you by hand. Do you wish that?" _

_A whimper passed my throat and I began weeping. "P – Please, I beg of you, I – I cannot."_

"_Myrella, _now_!" _

"_You have already murdered us once!" I finally shouted in-between cries, "What is the difference now?!" _

_Something within my father snapped like a frayed yarn rope being strained too much for its deplorable endurance. His hand, like a flash of lightning, snatched me directly underneath my mouth, seizing my jaw in an agonizing grip as I unleashed a pained scream as he dragged me forward with a strength untold. It did not take much effort to pin me on my back, immobilizing me by pressing his knee against my wheezing chest. _

"_This is insanity!" I heard Niklaus roar in outrage._

_Mikael used his middle finger and thumb to pry my gritted teeth open, slamming the girl's injured arm against my lips as they were wide enough to sink in. I tried to resist, but the wound on her skin was too deep. The blood spilled down my throat at a steady pace, and I felt myself coughing in revolt, but at the same time, craving more. _

_It was petrifying. _

_Brusquely, the forearm attached to my mouth was ripped away. Without a second thought someone had me cradled into their arms, holding me up with their arm supported my back and the crown of my head, pressing my face into the chest of their tunic that smelled nauseatingly akin to metallic blood._

_I faintly heard Mikael and Niklaus shouting at one another as the person holding me lead me the bedrooms that were all situated left of the small house. Their yells mingling together to form a massive blearing headache blaring in the temples of my head. _

"_Quiet down, sweetheart," the voice shushed, and I recognized the comforting voice of Finn from anywhere. Despite his quietness, his shyness, he was someone that I would always trust with all of my soul. He wiped away droplets of blood from my lips with the sleeve of his shirt, but did not smile that encouraging smile that I was commonly used to._

"_What have they done?" I asked him in fear._

"_A mistake, a mere mortal mistake," he kissed my forehead. _

A tug of the plane as it gently fought to control the increasing winds was what snapped Myra out of her trance. But as she felt her hand empty of the champagne flute, the lights darkened, and her cheek pressed against a cushiony pillow that had somehow been provided, she comprehended that she must have somehow dozed off during her memory lane transition.

Myra raised her head a fraction, glancing over at Niklaus. His breath was evened, his head leaned back, and he _seemed_ asleep. She unclipped her seatbelt and stood to her numb feet, arching her back to loosen the stiffen muscles. Her neck popped and she let out a soft groan. Pulling her crème cardigan closer around her waist, covering her draped black top and the thighs of her leggings, Myra strolled over to the vacant restroom.

She splashed her face with water and scrubbed free of the makeup that had smeared down her face, you could clearly tell she had been crying tenderly while asleep. Running her fingers a few times through her shoulder-length chocolate brown hair, Myra walked out in search of a stronger liquor within her premises reach.

The only thing she could discover from a very disgruntled young attendant was a half-empty bottle of brandy. But brandy is always disgustingly strong, so she had the human pour her a straight glass and she nursed it slightly while walking casually back over to her seat adjacent to the window.

"A little early, don't you say?" Niklaus murmured when she returned, and somehow without opening his eyes he knew of her agenda for the remaining trip.

"A little early, a little late, it is midnight, darling – the perfect time."

He smirked unhurriedly, in a relaxed manner. "Certainly, Ella. Certainly indeed."


End file.
